NEW YORK -- He was born in Cairo,
Georgia on the last day of January in 1919, and died on October 24, 1972
in Stamford, Connecticut. Robinson attended UCLA, where he won letters in
three sports.

He was in the Army during World War II and then played briefly in the Negro
Leagues when the war ended. He was signed to a minor league contract with
the Montreal Royals in 1946 by Branch Rickey, and the following year came
up to the Brooklyn Dodgers and broke baseball's age-old color line.

He played in the major leagues for a decade. He broke baseball age old color
line on April 15, 1947. He won the inaugural Rookie of the Year Award in
1947, the National League Most Valuable Player Award in 1949, and he helped
the Dodgers win six pennants and one world championship.

Despite all the pressure he played under, he was still able to record a lifetime
batting average of .311. His base-stealing ability and hustle won many games
for the Dodgers. He set several records for fielding for second basemen.

His influence on sports is immeasurable. His breaking of baseball's color
line against the greatest of odds is still one of the most dramatic stories
in all of sports history. And there are those who still have special memories
of the man and the legend. Here is how one from that time still remembers
the great player Brooklyn Dodger fans called "Robby".

When school was out, I sometimes went with my father in his taxi. One summer
morning, we were driving in East Flatbush in Brooklyn down Snyder Avenue.
My father pointed to a dark red brick house with a high porch.

"I think Jackie Robinson lives there," my father said. He parked across the
street and we got out of the cab, stood on the sidewalk and looked at the
house. Suddenly, the front door opened. A black man in a short-sleeved shirt
stepped out. I didn't believe it. Here we were on a quiet street on a summer
morning with no one else around.

The man was not wearing the baggy, ice-cream-white-uniform of the Brooklyn
Dodgers that accentuated his blackness. He was dressed in regular clothes,
coming out of a regular house in a regular Brooklyn neighborhood, a guy like
anyone else going out for a bottle of milk and a newspaper.

Then, incredibly, he crossed the street and came right toward me. Seeing
that unmistakable pigeon-toed walk, the rock of the shoulders and hips that
I had seen so many times before on the baseball field, I had no doubt who
it was.

"Hi Jackie, I'm one of your biggest fans," I said self-consciously. "Do you
think the Dodgers are going to win the pennant this year?"

He put his big hand out, and I took it. We shook hands and I felt the strength
and firmness of his grip. I was a nervy kid, but I didn't ask for an autograph
or try to prolong the conversation. I just he walked away down the street.